


The Spider And The Fly, Both Literally and Metaphorically

by Ghostyghost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Assassination, Bad Ending, Character Death, Crying, Death, Drabble, Explicit Language, F/F, Kissing, Memories, One Shot, Star Gazing, i guess theres a bit of fluff in there?, i use italics too much, oh yeah, tiny amount of french from someone who does not know french, uhhhhh not sure what else, widwomaker cant be widowmaker and amelie at the same time, wrote this on notes on my phone first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostyghost/pseuds/Ghostyghost
Summary: "Step into my parlor." Said the spider, to the fly.And the fly said, "Well, I'm going to die anyway, so why not?"(Quick little mercymaker drabble! Fast, sweet, and then really quite not sweet)





	The Spider And The Fly, Both Literally and Metaphorically

**Author's Note:**

> When I described it to my friend for her to proofread it, I explained it as something that "wouldn't make you cry, but will make you very distressed." Have fun!

 

Once there was a spider, and a fly.

Some like to call the fly a bird, a dove perhaps, but she's not like that. She's tiny and insignificant, or at least she feels like it. But it's not to say the spider isn't insignificant either.

And you see, the spider kills flies. I would say she eats them, because that is what they do, but that brings up some interesting sexual innuendos that I'm not intending to make. So one day this spider meets this fly, and she knows she's supposed to kill the fly, but she doesn't. Because the spider thinks, 'Hey, I think I remember this fly.' Which is silly, considering she's met a lot of flies. But she follows her thoughts, and she doesn't kill the fly. Instead she asks if it wants to come over, have a drink.

The fly, well the fly _does_ remember the spider. And the fly knows that the spider kills people, kills flies. She even knew some flies the spider killed. But she also _knows_ the spider, and even if the spider doesn't remember it, they used to be good friends, and so the fly goes, "Well, why not?" 

And she steps into the spiders parlor. 

At this point I suppose it's getting a bit too real to continue referring to them as silly insects. 

So, let's begin.

 

_"Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly..."_ The sniper mumbled to herself, not necessarily the smartest choice, considering she was attempting to stay hidden and unnoticed. But who was there to hear? It was only her, and her target. Ah yes, the target. 

Swiss, blonde, 37. Blue eyes. Esteemed doctor, probably wearing a lab coat with her hair in a ponytail. Hm, there she was, alone in the streets. What a silly mistake. A smart little girl would know not to go wandering late at night.

The blue woman supposed her target wasn't exactly wandering, she was on her way to somewhere- she forgets where. This, however, was not important. What was important was killing the target and getting the job done.

Widowmaker crouched down, pulling her scope up to her eye. Aim, and shoot. But as she squinted, looking a little closer, thinking a little deeper, something... happened. She didn't know what, but whatever occurred caused her finger to hesitate. It was something that happened in her brain, because she... knew that face. She knew that she knew it. At least she thought she did.

Through the vague tint of her scope she still managed to stare at blue eyes, and recognize those blue eyes. Unfortunately- or perhaps fortunately, depending on who you consider the protagonist -us humans have a weird way of feeling when we're being watched. And so the blonde turned, and her eyes met with the ones staring at her from the rooftop. And the sniper cursed, and the doctor did in her head, because fuck, they both thought they were incredibly screwed.

Perhaps Widow would of been okay if she had taken the shot right that second; it was still open and easy. Except she didn't, because somewhere buried in her mind, she remembered. A vague cloud of a face, _that face_ , sitting in a forgotten past. It had been there before, but smudged and foggy. Unintelligible. Only now did the face finally shine through. And in her memories the face laughed, and they shared a drink, and they hugged, and...

Maybe she shouldn't be killing this woman.

And the doctor? Well, she was still cursing, even if she should be running. Dumb, I know. She was also incredibly confused- she should be dead, but the sniper hadn't shot, and maybe that was why the medic hadn't ran. So Angela sat there and waited.

And Widowmaker sat there and waited. The silence was past awkward, it was deadly. 

Eventually, the target spoke.

"You.. have not shot me." 

The sniper cleared her throat and coughed slightly, as if choking on her words.

"N-no. I have not."

Silence, again.

"Well.. why not? You ought to kill me, Amélie."

That name stung.

"Yes. I ought to. But I.. am not."

"Why?"

"Because I remember you, and I don't get memories very often. I don't want to forget yet." Her voice was still scratchy, strained. She didn't feel quite right, however none of this situation did.

The lilac woman's words sat with Angela for awhile, and at first she looked hurt, then a small, grave laugh, echoed across the streets as she turned her head to the side.

"Very funny, Widowmaker. Finish this. I am well aware I cannot get away."

A look of something that could almost be called offense appeared on her face. She tries to be nice, and _this_ occurs? Ridiculous.

"What? No, I am not killing you. I can't. So I was thinking, you should come over to my house. For a drink? I don't know."

"I've seen you toy with your victims before Widow, and truthfully it's merely gotten boring. Just finish the job. I've already lost." Her voice was hurt. Her voice was.. scared. And Amélie was frustrated.

"I **can't** kill you, Angela," She remembered her name- "so for the love of god, stop being difficult."

They both got quiet again. Amélie cursed at the doctors ignorance, letting out an annoyed sigh as she tilted her head up and stared at the night sky. It was pretty. 

More minutes of silence passed. Ziegler was so, so confused. This was ridiculous, because her old friend was gone, and she knew this. She knew she wouldn't be getting her back either. But here she was, watching the sniper act as if this was normal.

And.. then watching the sniper simply jump down from the rooftop, landing swiftly in front of her. She dusted herself off and stood up, before sticking a stiff arm out to grab the doctors hand.

"Angela. If you are going to trust me, take my hand."

The medic blinked.

_"S'il vous plait."_ She added, as if the issue was being impolite, and not the fact she was a terrorist.

And Angela, Dr. Ziegler, our little fly... she took the spiders hand. She didn't know why, it was probably dumb. Correction, it truly was dumb. However, she was already caught in the spiders web, even if neither of them realized it. Hell, you could say the spider hadn't even noticed she'd strung one.

Then they walked. It was a long walk, but along the way they spoke. The medic told stories, memories, of things that happened. Between them. Shared nights and activities, things she remembered so vividly, even if she had tried to forget. Things that Amélie had forgotten, even if she hadn't wanted to. 

Here, walking down the street though, she remembered. Or perhaps she wasn't really remembering, but was so immersed in the doctors storytelling that she couldn't tell the difference. Gaining attachment to a character that had died- a character she was. A real being she couldn't quite remember being. And Angela recounted these memories with such ease, and she was still confused, but it was okay. It was okay because, well, it was... okay. Widowmaker was acting as if Amélie was back, she merely hoped it wasn't just acting.

After a long walk they arrived at Amélie's chateau. Angela was a tad awestruck, but the sniper merely explained she felt bad about it being all alone. Angela claimed she understood; she didn't like being alone either, so why should a house?

They walked out onto the balcony, and stared at starry skies. Exchanging a few words here and there, little sentences drifting away on the wind. 

"It's cold."

"It's always cold for me."

...

"Would you like my jacket?" The blonde looked at the other woman quizzically, searching for an answer. But she didn't receive one, and so she made the choice herself. Gentle fingers placed the coat over the others shoulders, and she gained a small nod in reply.

This was so... bizarre.

And yet she felt happy.

Amélie, on the other hand, felt nothing. Except she felt something. Maybe all she was feeling was that she was feeling something, but then she would have to also be feeling something, and none of it made sense. Maybe all Amélie was feeling was confusion.

"It's beautiful."

"It is."

They stayed outside for awhile, and slowly they drifted closer, pulled together by something neither of them quite understood. Fingers slowly intertwined, and the target rested her head on the sniper. They were too close, at least it felt like they were, but they didn't do anything. Drinks had passed their mind. Neither were thirsty anyway. 

And so minutes ticked by, and it got later, and Widowmaker started feeling warmer. And the medic thrived off that warmth.

"Let's go inside."

Chilled blue hands held warm pink ones as she pulled the doctor back towards the doors. They exchanged a smile, of some sorts, a smile that Amélie hadn't realized she was still capable of achieving. And they entered her dining room, with a table far too large for one lonely woman. But Angela just thought, _'Well, if this side of Widowmaker keeps up maybe she won't be so lonely for too long.'_

And they found themselves leaning against the fireplace, with emotions wrapped up in the medic and tangled inside the sniper. And Angela found herself cupping the others face, pulling her head in. And they kissed. A warmth sprouted through Amélie like little roots, and they kissed. Their lips pressed against each other and they _kissed._ Theyfound their own sunlight in the other, there with their eyes closed and faces touching. It was all fine, and Amélie felt like Amélie, even if she didn't remember Amélie. And Angela was so glad she that had never truly forgotten Amélie herself.

Then her phone rang.

She pulled apart briefly, reaching down and glancing at the name. Perhaps if she was slightly more romantically inclined she would of ignored it, but she didn't.

_Reaper._

And she would of picked it up, hell, maybe if she had things would of gone differently, but Angela was already pulling her back. However something had changed. A switch had flipped inside her head, and it had flipped to off. 

And she felt cold again.

And as she kissed her target, she forgot. 

And she became confused, and she became disgusted.

Her hands moved down ever so slightly, and in one swift movement, snapped the medics neck.

The fly was dead; the job was done. **Angela** was dead. The spider stood there for a moment, staring at the now limp body and contemplating what had occurred. In only a few moments though, she turned smoothly and began towards the door.

As her heels tapped against the stone flooring, a few stray tears wandered down her face.

But she wasn't sure what she was crying over. She had forgot.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed? First time putting anything on here, so I'm still figuring it out- and I'm aware it's very short, but it's intended to be. It also probably has some mistakes, but I am in no way a professional writer, and a few mistakes should be expected. However, hopefully I entertained you for a few minutes! And I also sincerely apologize.


End file.
